


Heart Games

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Blow Jobs, Comfort/Angst, First Time, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Season/Series 11, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-apocalyptic game of Truth or Dare helps Dean and Cas get a little cozier than they expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Games

**Author's Note:**

> This is a discarded excerpt from my WIP fic “After Dark”. Due to intense rewrites, this particular scene is getting completely cut. However, I still like it, so I’m doing a separate post! There were no additional edits done on this because (like I said) there was no reason to.

Dean pushed into the bar. The air was hot in there, stuffy. Loaded with citrus and dim yellow flame.  Cas stood at the front, hand on the doorknob, head hung. He heard Dean, watched him through the corner of his eye but didn’t turn.

He looked so out of sorts. Coat and suit jacket stripped, loose tie. His hair was a tousled mess, his collar skewed, one side up, the other down. His shirt hung on him in a balmy state of drying, sticking to him in the settling mugginess.

“Can I talk to you,” Dean asked quietly. “I need you to hear something.”

“I’m done talking, Dean.”

Dean bit his lip, his chest was tight. He didn’t want to just blurt it out. He was afraid to. More than that, what would it mean to Cas if he found out later the reason Dean had the nerve to be in there at all was because Alice had already _told him_? It would completely and totally corrupt the sincerity of it. Of Dean’s feelings, of everything.

He nodded, shook his shoulders out. “Okay, fine. You don’t wanna talk? Let’s drink. Come on, sit down. Shit storm outside can wait an hour.”

He was reorganizing. This whole fucking mess called for a new approach. Cas had already seen Dean being _Dean_ enough times. Being an asshole--being reluctant and evasive. What he hadn’t seen was Dean turning on the charm. If he could admit one positive thing about himself, it was that he was damn good at the charm thing. And he’d never tried it on Cas. Never dared to. Wouldn’t have known what to do with it if he had.

_ Fuck, flirting is my A-game _ , he thought as he kicked into gear. He knew he could decently flirt with the dull end of a pencil if he had to. With Cas? A little liquid courage and Dean bet he could turn him inside out.

He walked toward the bar, slipped behind it, glanced at Cas to make sure he wasn’t trying to escape out the front door.

He was just standing there, hand on the knob.

“Come on,” Dean nagged. “You can sit down and have a couple drinks before you run off to sacrifice yourself to the goblin king.”

Cas eyed him.

“I won’t talk,” Dean promised hollowly.

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf-- _Johnnie Walker_ , and cracked the top. He peeked again at Cas, smiled as he caught his eye, and thumbed a couple tumblers from the rack.

In another time, he would have made a damn good bartender. If he tried now, he’d probably just drink all the product. He filled the glasses, slid one to the other side and leaned on the bar top. “Your move, sailor.”

Cas’ hand reluctantly fell from the knob, but he didn’t move right away. He watched Dean, then the glass, worked his cheeks between his teeth. Dean lifted a brow, took a drink from his cup, bumped Cas’ toward him again.

_ Come on, you bastard. Bite. _

“Fine,” Cas grumbled, doing his best to sound like the inconvenienced angel from a lifetime passed. Like he’d been plucked fresh from Heaven’s gates. He slipped onto a bar stool opposite Dean, grabbed the glass and downed the whiskey in one good pull.

Dean watched him, the way his throat bobbed, the elegant way he took the bite at the end of it.

He approved. Tipped Cas another drink.

“That was pretty good, but at this point, I still think I could out drink you. I mean, drinking I can do, my friend.” Dean finished his glass and poured himself another.

“You do a lot of talking for someone not talking,” Cas spurned quickly.

Dean held a chuckle, bit his lip to keep it in. “You being a little feisty?”

Cas glanced away.

“How ‘bout a drinking game, hmm? I mean, what else we gonna do to pass the time? Just the two of us, candlelight… no one to bother us?”

Cas frowned. “Where are Sam and Alice?”

Dean shrugged, topped Cas’ drink off. “Braiding each other's ridiculous hair-- I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. They’re busy.”

He sipped his drink, watched Cas like a cat would watch a mouse.

“What game?” Cas asked, eyes up, hesitant but curious.

_ There it is, _ Dean smiled. _You can’t stay mad at me._

He looked around, grabbed an empty fifth, turned it on its side, and spun it on the bar top. It warbled, slowed and stopped, the mouth of it pointing at Cas. “I mean, anything but spin the bottle, right?”

He peeked up and made sure he saw the realization of what that game was bloom over Cas’ face before he continued. “I don’t know, we don’t got any cards, so that knocks out the good ones, like _Texas Hold ‘Em_ , and strip poker _,_ but,” he picked up the empty bottle and set it aside, smiled to himself as he slipped that last one in. “We could always go old school and play a nice slumber-party-tested game called _Truth or Dare.”_

He leaned closer, hung just at the edge of Cas’ space. Just close enough that Cas noticed it, sat straight, pulled his glass back with him. _Oh, look at that. Cas grew himself a space bubble._

“How do you play?”

“Truth, or dare?”

“Yes.”

“No, pick one. You have to tell the truth to a question I ask-- Or, you have to do whatever I dare you to do. If you don’t do it, you gotta drink. If you do do it, then I’ll drink. Got it? Incentive is to get each other drunk.”

“Why do that when we can just drink?” Cas muttered.

“This ways more fun. Here, I’ll go first. I’ll take truth, hmm? So ask me a question. Anything you want to know.”

“Uh,” Cas squinted, sat back, looked around like he was trying to come up with the square root of an infinite number.

“Anything, Cas. It doesn’t have to be profound.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Right now? Fucking awesome, actually,” Dean said patting his chest. “Thank you for that.”

“You already said thank you.”

“I’m saying it again. Can’t say thanks enough for what you did. I mean it. I know I come off as an asshole...a lot. But, thank you.”

Cas’ face softened. “Of course.”

Dean smiled. “Now, I answered, so you drink, and it’s your turn.”

Cas did, draining a bit more of his glass than he probably should, for what was going to be a quick, blackout game. “Uh, truth.”

“Okay. You ever feel weird without the whole outfit on? Suit and coat.”

Cas looked at his clothes. “I feel weird sitting in a wet shirt. I can’t tell if I’m sweating or if the air is really that thick.”

Dean cocked his head. “What?”

There it was again, the kind of strange comment about physical discomfort that threw Dean. It wasn’t the kind of thing Cas usually pointed out. “What do you mean? You were cold earlier, now you’re hot?”

“Yeah.” Cas swirled his glass and shrugged.

“I thought you could regulate your body temperature or something.”

“Yup,” Cas said taking a huge swallow. “I’m supposed to be able to. But I seem to be turning useless again. My grace is…” he paused, finished his drink. “Fucked up.” He looked at Dean with such nonchalance painting his face, Dean was sure he’d somehow corrupted Cas into a complete cynic.

“Fuck you. You ain’t been useless a day in your life.”

Cas scoffed, chuckled. “We’ll see what you say when we need something smote, or someone healed, and I can’t do it anymore. Drink and choose.”

“That’s enough of that. You’re not just some tool, Cas. The team’s stronger with you on it, whether you can do that shit or not. Understand?”

Cas was silent. He touched the glass with his fingers, ran them down the smooth surface. “Are you going to pick one?” he asked.

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek a moment. He wasn’t going to spend a lot of time analyzing him. He was sure every fucking doubt crossing the man’s lips was spurred by either Rowena, Crowley, or Dean himself. He seemed, very suddenly, a distant reflection of himself. A reminiscent version Dean had only glimpsed once, a long time ago. Before they beat the devil, before he was turned human and back again. There was this version of Cas, or one very much like it. But unlike that one, Dean intended to be there, to keep him from self doubt and neglect.

But, God, he certainly looked like that version of Cas. Just a little off kilter. A little more mussed than normal. Messy hair, shirt. Darkened jawline where his stubble was well past five o’clock. And those warm, swimming eyes. That velvety, loose cadence to his voice that never failed to send a shiver down Dean’s spine. If there had been any doubt before, there wasn’t any now. He loved Cas, but he also fucking _wanted_ him. He wanted desperately to grab his tie. Just thread it between his fingers, pull it from its knot and slide it off Cas’ neck. He wanted to lean down and smell the whiskey on his breath, pluck his shirt buttons from their eyelets. Dean wanted to touch him, be the one to tell him if he was sweating or if the air really just was that fucking thick.

Hell, he wanted to _make_ him sweat.

_ Ask me what I want, Cas _ , he thought as he took a drink. He pulled himself back, reigned it in. _Gotta ease into it._ This was the ten yard line. He didn’t want to trip up now.

He rolled his neck and cleared his throat. “Truth.”

Cas considered him, leaned in on an elbow. “What’s the first thing you thought about when you woke up today?”

“This morning before everything, or after the Mark got eighty-sixed?” It seemed like it had been longer than that, but really, he’d woken with the Mark less than 24 hours before. He hadn’t had a restful night’s sleep in over a year.

“Both,” Cas said.

Dean rested his cup at his lips and thought a moment. “This morning I woke up and tried to remind myself I was good. Did good, was good. Either one, or both. But, really, I knew I was fucked. I was too far gone. I remember the feeling in my fingers, like someone else was pulling the strings, makin’ ‘em dance. Compelling me to feel blood and breaking bones. And I knew--I didn’t just think it, but I fucking _knew_ , that I didn’t deserve to have a second chance, even if I was lucky enough to ever get one.

“I felt it, Cas. It was as real to me as you are now. But, I got off the floor anyway and told myself that maybe… _just maybe,_ everything would work out. Whether I thought I deserved it or not, if I got it, I was gonna take it. I wasn’t gonna fuck around with my life anymore. I would come clean and see what I could make out of it. That thought-- _wish_ \--kept me going a lot longer than it probably should’ve.  And hell if it isn’t still one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

Cas swallowed and watched him, his eyes faltering from Dean’s. There was a long silence. It sat in the air as heavy as the darkness did. Dean pursed his lips and finally took a little sip, coming back to the room. Back to Cas, finding home in the candlelight in his eyes.

“And after?” Cas asked quietly.

Dean settled on him, the corners of his lips tugging softly at his cheeks. “You,” he said.

“You thought about me?”

“Ah, no follow-up questions. You’ll just have to wait til my next turn.”

Cas stared at him a moment, then took a drink. “Alright. Truth.”

Dean bent down, leaned both elbows on the bar top, folding his arms together. “What do you really want, Cas?”

Cas squinted. Dean felt him reading, their eyes locking together just a little bit longer than usual, the liquor warming both their bodies. Dean bit a lip as he looked at Cas’. It was all he could do to stay on his side of the bar, keep up the game. Castiel pulled at him like a magnet. The whiskey made Dean heavy, and his docking port was apparently the guy across from him. Every minute that passed, the liquor was settling in, taking hold. It was pushing him, tearing down all the mental barriers Dean had so carefully constructed over the years, tossing the bricks away like it was going out of style.

“You’re being strange,” Cas said, suddenly suspicious. “Why are you being strange?”

Dean quickly shrugged, straightened and swirled his glass. “Nothing weird going on. I’m just a guy drinking with a good friend.”

“Yes. A totally normal guy who’s not acting strange at all.” The deadpan rumble in his voice directly contradicted the curiosity in his eyes.

Dean was soaking it up.

He walked around the bar, back to Cas’ side, found the bar stool next to him and plopped down. Sitting backwards, he leaned against the wood and looked over at Cas. “Come on, Cas. Anything in the world. What do you want?”

“I suppose I should say I want this newest evil to go away. So no one’s hurt. So I don’t have any more blood on my hands than I already do.”

“Eh, stop. New rule. The bullshit problems we have to deal with, we’ll always have to deal with. Not exactly a news flash. Ain’t even newsworthy right now. You can’t use any of those.”

“There are literally giant shadow creatures eating people alive, Dean.”

“You don’t know that.”

Cas sat back and gestured dubiously to the bloodstains and clawed rips in his shirt. “I can’t be certain,” he said. “But I’m reasonably sure.”

“Still, you gotta pick something else. Something personal.”

“I don’t like having blood on my hands, Dean. I find that very personal.”

“No one here does. But that doesn’t matter right now. Right now, we’re drinking, remember? The world can wait.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I am,” Dean nodded. “The game’s successful so far. You gonna answer?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Take a drink, then.”

“Why were you thinking about me when you woke up?”

“I’d love to answer that, except this time I choose dare,” Dean smiled.

“What does that encompass?” Cas pulled back, his glass clanking hard on the wood top. He was obviously feeling it, losing his coordination.

“You have to dare me to do something, crazy or stupid--anything you want--and I have to do it,” his lips parted as he imagined Cas daring a dirty kiss. “Like run around outside naked or pour ice down Sam’s pants.”

“If you go outside naked a shadow monster will eat you.” His voice curled in the air, a light child-like chime to it.

“Well then, I guess you shouldn’t dare me to do that.”

Cas looked around the room. The candles, behind the bar, the door. Dean saw an idea slide through his face and he pulled off the stool, strode easily behind the bar and looked around. He ducked down a moment, his head disappearing beneath the wood, then he popped back up, stumbled a bit on drunk legs, plopping a small jar of slimy red peppers on the tabletop.

“Uh, oh,” Dean laughed. “Food challenge?”

“Peppers,” Cas nodded, and as Dean reached for it, “but I should warn you, Alice said some random man used to stick his fingers in it all the time.”

Dean pulled back and sneered. _Fucking disgusting_ , he shivered. _Damn, he went right for the throat. Gross food and germs._ Dean smiled. “Nice. Ten points for you.”

“There’s a point system now? This is getting complicated. I’m too drunk for this to have any more steps.”

“Gimme the jar.”

“You’re gonna eat it?” Cas laughed.

“Is that the dare?”

He thought a moment. “Yes.”

“Then gimme the jar.”

Dean popped the lid and the stench of vinegar and spice slapped him. “God, they’re pickled too,” he muttered. He poked a finger inside and chased one of the smaller ones around until he got a hold on it. He already felt himself gagging, just thinking of the unwashed fingers. He closed his eyes and popped it in. Coughed, and swallowed it down.

He was okay for a moment, then the spice hit him, cleared his nose and burned his eyes. He whimpered, took a big swig of his whiskey and coughed again.

Cas laughed.

“It’s so fucking hot,” Dean whined.

“And you were worried about the fingers, weren’t you?”

“You’re an asshole.”

Dean shook his head, as if that would shake the pain from his mouth. He took another drink, gritted his teeth and breathed, wiped the involuntary tears from the corners of his eyes. “Okay, he said after a long minute. “Fuck. Okay. You goin’ truth or dare on me?”

Cas smiled back at him wide and toothy. He took the obligatory gulp of his whiskey and shook the empty fifth. “After that, I would be dumb to give you a chance for revenge.”

“So, that a truth?”

Cas nodded.

“Alright. I’m taking it back. We’re doing a repeat, only you can’t lie this time.”

“I haven’t lied.”

“Bullshit. A lie of omission is still a lie. Tell me what you _want_ , Cas. ”

Cas sighed and walked around the bar quietly. “I think… I just want to be happy,” he said slowly. “I want to know happiness. I’ve never had it, and it seems so important.” He sat down next to Dean and looked at him.

“What would make you happy?” Dean asked. He was too drunk to stop it. It was all a derailing train at this point. He grabbed Cas’ tie, ran his hand down it. He could see the answer on the tip of Cas’ tongue, just sitting there. His eyes betrayed him.

Cas bit his lip, his throat hitching as he swallowed.

Dean could smell the whiskey on him. Everything smelled like whiskey at this point, but the whiskey on Cas was sweet. Just punchy enough to make Dean’s mouth water. He wanted to taste it. He needed to taste what _Cas’_ whiskey was like.

_ Come on, you bastard, just say it, _ he willed.

Cas was quiet, eyes darting between Dean’s.

Dean wanted him to have the courage to admit how he felt. It was so important that he finally fess up. It would build something inside him, authenticate everything he’d done for the last seven years. Validate him in every way.

_ Tell me how you feel _ , Dean begged silently. For God’s sake, he was throwing himself at the guy.

_ He can’t,  _ Dean realized _. He really is that afraid I’ll throw him away..._

He had to help him out.

He leaned in, collided with the heat of his face. “Hey, Cas,” he pulled at his tie, tugged him forward. “Wanna play _Spin the Bottle_?”

Cas’ jaw tensed, the muscles in his temple working as he fought the electricity Dean was dragging in. He shook his head-- not a _no_ , but like he was trying to fend off the wildfire in his mind with a sprinkler. “Dean...” he whispered helplessly.

Dean brushed their lips together, breathed in his smell, trailed a finger along his collarbone. “What do you want?” he asked again, his voice just a breath.

He heard the sound of Cas’ hard swallow, felt the shiver of his lip.

“You,” he admitted finally.

Dean’s stomach dropped out and he closed the space, kissed him. Fit Cas’ bottom lip between his, felt as Cas’ chest seized and his fingers gripped the front of Dean’s shirt. Dean moved gently, and Cas returned the favor, pushing into him, tasting him, shuddering. Cas’ soft lips and stubbled chin pulling against Dean’s.

Cas was warm, thick with whiskey and want, and just at the precipice of something akin to lightning in a jar. That’s what it felt like, Dean realized, his heart in his ears, his adrenaline on full pour. It felt like Dean was trying to tame lightning. It was all electricity.

Cas whined and Dean’s skin lit with goosebumps, a breath shuddered out of him. Their lips parted, and Dean tried for a moment to catch his racing brain. Suddenly all his bravado was gone. He’d expected it to be good, but not… hijacking. It stole him. He looked at Cas in awe. Realized in that moment that he’d just lost all the power. He was at Cas’ mercy.

“Holy, fuck,” Dean muttered, dumbstruck. “That was amazing.” He nudged his nose against him again, listened to his ragged breath. Felt Cas’ eyelashes on his cheek.

“That was really hot,” Cas said finally, then added, “the, uh, the pepper.” A coy smile rushed his flushed cheeks.

Dean grabbed his face, and kissed him again. Licked his lip, caught the swell of it with his teeth.

Cas leaned into him, dropped off his stool, moved between Dean’s legs, Dean opened himself up, pulled Cas in.

God, Dean was hard, had been hard half the night already, and now Cas knew it too. Leaning into him, pressing up against him, Dean slid to the end of his stool, unknotted Cas’ tie and threw it. He quickly moved to his buttons, fumbling them open. He suddenly felt desperate to get hands on him. It was finally happening. He just wanted to touch Cas’ skin, feel the curves of muscle in his sides, his stomach. The jab of hip bone just at the edge of his belt.

“Dean, wait,” Cas said breathlessly, his own hands on Dean’s thighs, curving toward the back of them like he was going to pick Dean up, pull his hips forward, knock him back on top of the bar.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered weakly. _It’s too much. Too fast,_ but he couldn’t stop himself. It had been such a long time. He pulled Cas’ belt and popped the top button on his pants. “Please don’t tell me you don’t want this.”

“No, but you’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he said, sliding his hands under Cas’ shirt, along his sides, feeling the slopes of muscle in his hot skin.

“You don’t want to do this drunk.”

“Yes, I do. I want to do it drunk. I want to do it sober. I want to do it hungover in the morning.”

“You’ll regret it in the morning.”

“You can go straight to hell if you think I didn’t want this when I walked in here stone-cold sober tonight,” Dean said pulling Cas’ zipper, kissing his neck, brushing the back of his hand against Cas’ dick.

Cas shuddered, dug his fingers into Dean’s thighs. "And if you're wrong? If you wake up in the morning and can't look at me?"

“Not gonna happen.”

“But, how can you know that? How can you be sure?” he begged.

Dean’s pulse was racing. _Fuck_ he tasted the salt on Cas’ skin. Wanted to kiss his mouth again, feel his tongue, bury his fingers in his haphazard hair. “Because I want you, Cas. I need you. I always have. I always will.” He slid a hand up Cas’ bare chest, felt his heart beating. Strong and fast, it called back to Dean’s touch like a part of him he’d always been missing. “Because I love you,” he said quietly.

Cas closed his eyes, his head dropped, breath held in his chest. He pulled back, grabbed Dean’s hands and looked at him, struck and quiet, suddenly at the edge of tears.

Dean could instantly feel his heart in his throat, he tried to swallow it down then thought, _might as well just cough it up and give it to him at this point._ Cas’ blue eyes tore into him, something in them managed to be both relieved and terrified. Like his world was ripped apart again and he didn’t have any of the matching pieces, didn’t know where to start… wasn’t even at the right puzzle.

Dean suddenly realized what it sounded like. He hadn’t thought it all the way through. It sounded like he was just telling Cas that to get him to play. _Tell him you love him. Get some head. Doesn’t matter if you mean it._

He shot off his stool, anxiety hitting him like a bat to the stomach. He grabbed Cas’ face, locked onto his eyes. “That’s what I need you to understand. That’s why I need to fucking tell you how sorry I am for what happened,” he pleaded. “You told me you’d follow me, Cas. You said you’d be there. That you’d have to watch it… watch me turn into a monster. And I realized I’d cursed you too. I’d fucked us both over with my dumb decision, and I didn’t get it ‘til that moment in the bunker.” His eyes blurred and hot tears rolled down his face. “I didn’t want that for you. I wanted you to forget me. I wanted you to get pissed and leave. I wanted to _try_ to help you.”

Dean sputtered, overwhelmed by Cas’ stare. “And the worst part was, when I walked out of there, I fucking knew you wouldn’t give it up. I knew it, and I walked out anyway. I broke your heart and I fucking walked out because there was nothing else I could do. Because I love you, Cas. And damning you to that life was my worst fucking sin.”

“Dean--”

“--I owe you everything,” he insisted his voice choking. “Everything I’ve had since you pulled me from the furnace. Everything I’ll get to have now. I don’t have any fuckin’ right to ask you for more, but I am.” He shook his head, tried to clear his eyes, read Cas’ resolute expression. “Heart on my sleeve, I’m askin' if you'll be my second chance. And I don’t just mean tonight.”

Cas’ face melted, tears trailing down his cheeks. He grabbed Dean’s head, pulled it down, kissed his forehead. His temple. “You owe me nothing, Dean.” His voice was sweet and measured. With a tenderness Dean didn’t expect to so thoroughly strike him. “You love me.”

Dean nodded. Castiel kissed him, his touch tender. They looked at each other a moment, and Cas kissed him again a little harder, a little more tongue, catching Dean’s lip with his teeth only a moment. Dean breathed into it, his hands finding Cas’ bare stomach again, trailing over his lean muscle, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You love me,” Cas said again, more desperately. His words lost in the weightlessness of his voice. He pulled at Dean’s belt, unlatched it, popped the button on his pants, rubbed his hand down the front of him.

“Yes,” Dean gasped moving into Cas’ touch. “I really fucking do.”

Cas bit his neck, his lips hot and wet, the stubble on his chin dragging along Dean’s skin. He rolled up against him slipping Dean’s damp t-shirt over his head. Dean grabbed at Cas’ waist, ran his thumbs down the slope of his hip bones, into the hollows. Bit at the exposed muscle between his neck and shoulder. Cas groaned, grabbed Dean by the shoulders and pushed.

Dean toppled backwards, took Cas with him. The two of them a drunk pile on the floor.

Dean couldn’t even pretend to care about the spilled liquor and dirty shoes. The street traffic, and spit peanut shells that were probably everywhere. Cas was on top of him, his hard-on pushing into Dean’s, both of them mostly undressed and already totally debauched. Just drunk enough for everything to be uninhibited. Just vulnerable enough for it to be fucking amazing.

“If Sam comes in right now, I swear I’ll smite him,” Cas gasped into the side of Dean’s neck, bucking his hips forward. He slipped under Dean’s boxers and ran his hand over his dick. Dean moaned and clawed needy fingers at Cas’ waist.

“God, please don’t talk about my brother right now,” Dean said between pants.

“I’m just warning you.”

“Okay, whatever. As long as you can bring him back, I don’t care.”

Cas smiled. Dean could feel his teeth against his skin.

“I tell you what,” Dean chuckled thinking about it again. “It’d be the last time he ever interrupted us.”

Cas laughed, his voice so warm in Dean’s ear it made him moan.

Cas moved down his stomach, first hands, sliding over every inch of him, over his pecs, down his ribs, across his belly. Then lips. Soft and sensual, a little brush of teeth. Dean shivered as Cas sunk beneath his reach. He tugged at Dean’s pants, pulled them off, slipped both hands up Dean’s thighs, starting low and moving up to his hipbones. Then, warm and wet, Cas cupped Dean and brought him into his mouth.

“Oh, my God...” Dean gasped, writhed, then quickly, “Fuck, sorry. Not God…”

He glanced down in time to see the oddest eye roll he’d ever witnessed in his life. Mouth full of Dean’s cock, Cas still managed to look placidly annoyed. Dean couldn’t help it, he laughed, covered his face.

Cas moved up the length of him, licked the top for good measure and broke his rhythm long enough to tell him to stop talking.

Dean struggled at the mercy of Cas’ mouth, his hands grabbing errantly for any piece of Cas he could reach. Head and hair mostly. He pulled his fingers through Cas’ hair and tried to breathe as the pressure built. “Stop,” he begged. “Come back.”

Cas obliged, pulled himself back up over Dean, pausing to kiss up his stomach, then found his lips again. His fingers cupping Dean’s balls, stroking his dick.

Dean took advantage, kissed Cas hard, felt his swollen lips with his own, tasted himself on Cas’ tongue. He slipped a hand quickly into Cas’ pants. He wanted to get him before he moved again. Wanted to make sure Cas was getting some of his own.

Dean wasn’t dumb. He knew the guy probably wasn’t rocking a large list of notches on the bedpost. But that didn’t seem to matter because whatever he was doing--everything he was doing--was amazing. And he’d quickly learn what Dean was willing to offer in return.

“I’d go down on you,” he whispered as he listened to Cas’ ragged gasps in his ear. “But, some idiot made me eat a hot pepper, and he probably wouldn’t want the misery of that.”

“It was worth it,” Cas said, managing to sound stable despite his flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, and pounding heart.

“That’s what you say now, but, buddy, you ever get head?” Dean trailed a hand down the side of Cas’ neck, his nose brushing his jawline, his voice whispering against his skin.

Dean groped Cas, pulled him out of his pants, stopped, then trailed his hand up his stomach again. Holding his palm out he said,”spit.” Cas did, and Dean wrapped his fingers around Cas, rolling his wrist fluidly up and down. He licked his earlobe, nibbled it, smelled his hair and the sweat on his skin. Found hold on the lean muscle in Cas’ back. The pervasive hormones that danced around them. He pulled back, looked at him, wanted to see his face.“I know you’re all angelly, and not normally dragged down by these kinds of carnal desires--”

He watched Cas’ red face, his eyes roll behind heavy lids. He looked up at him, held his gaze. “--but I can tell you like it.”

A smile graced Cas’ arrested expression. “Of course I do. I’m not fresh blood, Dean. I’m not even a virgin.”

“Yeah? Humanity drag ya down?”

“All the way to the floor, it turns out.”

“Hey,” Dean whispered. “You knocked me over.”

He tasted Cas’ sweat, felt his weight, the movement of his body against Dean’s. _I love him,_ Dean thought as he moved in unison with Cas’ hips. _And I would happily do this for the rest of my life. For the rest of time_.

Cas buried his face in the side of Dean’s neck, lips on his collarbone, his voice catching in his throat, cut between the urgency in his breath. The hand he had on Dean’s shoulder tightened, fingers curling, digging into Dean’s skin, and Dean knew he was about to come. The idea of it drove him crazy. His blood coursed his temples in loud drum beats.

“Come for me, Cas,” he begged.

Cas gasped, crumpled into Dean, panted his name.

That plea was Dean’s undoing. He lost it. Breath and touch culminating in a perfect synchrony, he joined Cas in a blackout, full body hit of endorphins. The first time Dean could ever actually be certain it was a simultaneous orgasm.

He found something so fucking satisfying in that.

He breathed into Cas, held firmly at his sweaty back, fingers of his left hand digging into the worked cord of muscle along his spine. “Oh, man,” he whispered nuzzling along the curve of his neck. Feeling the come on his hand and stomach. His own body shivering, completely taken.

Cas kissed him, slow and full. Dean took him in, absorbed him, closed his eyes and felt the buzz of his skin. His pulse, just beneath the surface, trying to catch up.

“I love you, too,” Cas whispered.

Dean blinked, eyes heavy. Kissed Cas’ chin as he slid off the top, rolled next to Dean on the floor. "Yeah, I know," he smiled.

 


End file.
